


A Long Relationship

by bookwyrmling



Category: xxxHoLic
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6712237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwyrmling/pseuds/bookwyrmling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hikkoshi soba – soba given to new neighbours after moving with the wish of having a long and friendly relationship.  Also, soba eaten by someone just after moving (it is an easy dish to prepare and only requires basic instruments to prepare).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Long Relationship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ivelostmyspectacles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/gifts).



> The wonderful and talented chronologiical drew a comic based on this story. You should totally check it (and her other pieces) out! http://chronologiical.tumblr.com/post/135976518195/a-long-relationship-read-from-right-to-left-i

Someone new was moving into the apartment next door. Watanuki had yet to see who it was, as the only people clunking up and down the stairs earlier in the day appeared to be the movers – the clunking was what had woken him up with a growled question as to who on earth would move heavy furniture on 6am on a Sunday?

Watanuki had been late to bed last night. Fridays and Saturdays were always the busiest and latest at the restaurant he worked as a station chef at while finishing his culinary degree and Sundays were supposed to be his one day of rest.

But no.

Some idiot without any common sense, decency or respect felt the need to disrupt his sleep and throw off his entire day.

Watanuki had not met his new neighbor, but he already despised him.

Spite meant very little, however, when the sudden smell of burning and the sight of smoke leaking out his new neighbour’s window started up. Wide-eyed, Watanuki dashed outside before pounding on his neighbor’s door. It was opened by a (slightly) taller man about the same age but with beady eyes Watanuki already did not like and Watanuki snapped. “ARE YOU TRYING TO BURN THE WHOLE PLACE DOWN?!”

Ignoring any response, Watanuki shoved his way through into the box-filled apartment and rushed straight into the kitchen where a pot was billowing smoke. Grabbing a lid that looked like it would fit from the top of only open box, Watanuki turned off the range and slammed the lid down on top to hopefully smother any flames that might have started inside.

His eyes watered and nose burned and his shoulders shook as lazy footsteps plodded into the kitchen behind him.

“WHAT were you even trying to do?!” Watanuki shouted and threw his arms at the pot still sitting on the range – he would throw it in the sink, but he could not be sure if there was grease to worry about – as he turned around to the other man who was watching him with curiosity.

“Hikkoshi soba.”

Watanuki blinked, “Huh?”

“Hikkoshi soba.”

“I heard you the first time!” he yowled before turning back to the range to peek underneath the lid, “I just can’t believe there’s an idiot who starts a fire and his only response is to say what he was trying to make! If you can’t cook, don’t!”

Looking inside, Watanuki could not believe what he saw. He couldn’t even be angry because he could not figure out why this would happen.

“Do you even have a brain?” he groaned, “Where’s the water?” But the sight inside the pot told him enough: this idiot neighbor of his had gotten distracted and let the water cook off and the cooked noodles burn to the bottom of the dish. With a groan, he began digging through boxes to find the instruments and seasonings he needed while the stranger just watched. “I’ll only do this for you once, so bow down graciously before me and then learn how to cook or buy conbini bento!” Watanuki growled once more at the man before he went to scraping the noodles from the pan.

In under twenty minutes a large platter – the one thing Watanuki had shouted at the man to do was find dishes to serve on and eat with, which the man had dutifully, if silently, done – of stir-fried soba mixed with vegetables courtesy of Watanuki’s own kitchen after realizing how woefully stocked this one was sat in the middle of the living room floor as the table was piled with more boxes.

With a sigh and feeling much better, Watanuki wiped at the sweat that had built on his forehead during the cooking and cleaning – he would never let dirty dishes sit – with aplomb. With a final self-satisfied nod of his head, Watanuki prepared to leave only to have that eerily silent resident reach out and grab his wrist.

“WHAT NOW?!” Watanuki snapped.

“Hikkoshi soba.”

“Is that the only thing you know how to say?! Can you even speak in full sentences?” he screeched, “YES! You have your soba now! Don’t expect this to happen again!”

But the man did not release his grip no matter how Watanuki attempted to slip his wrist free.

“I wanted to invite you for hikkoshi soba.”

“It doesn’t count when I’m the one who made it,” Watanuki hissed, but as the man continued to stare at him with his golden eyes that made Watanuki’s skin crawl he eventually sighed. “Fine! I’ll eat soba with you! Now let go and stop staring at me; it’s making you even more creepy than before!”

The man released his hold and Watanuki sighed in relief as he rolled his wrist, still feeling like there was something touching it.

“Shoes.”

“What now?!” Watanuki growled only to see the man pointing at his feet. Looking down, Watanuki realized he was still wearing the outdoor shoes he had slipped his feet into while running over and forgotten to take off in the face of a fire and then cooking. Groaning, Watanuki walked over to the door – shut at some point after he had barged in – and realized how embarrassing he had acted. The idiot deserved it, he told himself with a shake of his head as he slipped his shoes off all the same.

“Look, I’ll eat the soba with you, but that’s it,” he declared, returning to where the new neighbour sat with two bowls and sets of chopsticks, “After this, don’t bother me anymore.”

Picking up the bowls, Watanuki served each of them, watching only momentarily as the man dug in to the meal with gusto. Watanuki’s first bite tasted charred and crunched and he sighed. There was only so much even a chef with his experience could do, but at least the vegetables and seasonings covered up the worst of the burnt smell and flavour.

“Doumeki.”

Watanuki paused, chopsticks half-way to his mouth  
before turning a confused look on the man.

“Doumeki,” the man repeated and Watanuki realized it must be his name.

Shoving the bite in his mouth, Watanuki chewed angrily and swallowed hard, glaring at the man the whole time. “You really need to learn how to speak proper Japanese,” he scolded. The ensuing silence as Doumeki stared at him through his next bite pulled a sigh from Watanuki once he’d taken a drink of green tea from the cans Doumeki had grabbed from the nearby vending machine. “I’m Watanuki, alright? Watanuki Kimihiro and you better remember it! But remember to leave me alone, too, got it? I don’t have time to deal with idiots like you.”

“But you ate the soba,” Doumeki pointed out and, noodles dripping from his mouth, Watanuki blushed in surprise and glared. He did not say anything in argument, however. He simply refilled his bowl.


End file.
